This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

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Of all the days to find out she was going to miss her highlight appointment with her personal hair god, Enrique.

Your mission -- to infiltrate and expose the identity of the ever elusive Missile Marvin. Most notably sought for his arms/nuclear missile dealings with nefarious Middle Eastern terrorists. He is considered extremely dangerous. Utilize every resource available to you when meeting with him, Agent Crisco.

Why did every fucktard bad guy have to be "extremely dangerous"? Couldn't they just be mild mannered so she wouldn't break a nail? She made a mental note to reschedule Enrique because she had a funny feeling her hair was going to need an uber fluffing after this gig.

Cindy Crisco, international spy and ex-beauty queen, glanced one last time at the note from "The Boss" at NSU, locking into her memory the location where the drop from Missile Marvin was to occur, and watched as the paper turned into minute particles, then completely disappeared.

How the fuck the geeks at NSU made stuff disappear before your very eyes was beyond her. That Sheldon in the lab was some kinda genius.

Her eyes fell to her watch/phone on her wrist. If she planned to catch this Marvin, she'd better bust a move. The note from Thor Newcastle, head honcho at NSU, had said he was on the move.

Popping open her briefcase of goodies, Cindy double-checked what was available to her in the event she captured Marvin. A polished, silver nail file winked at her from inside the briefcase. It was, indeed, one of her most lethal weapons. Dried up beauty queens of the world unite!

And capturing Marvin with whatever she had in her bag of tricks was exactly what she intended to do.

She'd worked for months, watching him and waiting for the right moment to pounce. Marvin thought she wanted to buy some guns, and this was their first face-to-face meeting arranged via an NSU plant in Marvin's organization. Cindy couldn't afford to screw this up. Especially with that new guy hot on her heels for a better position at NSU.

Though, she had to admit, the new guy was the shit, even if his name was dumb. Hot, cut, tight ass, biceps the size of bowling balls and shaggy, dark hair that needed her hairdresser Enrique desperately.

Struggling to get into her Lycra jumpsuit, Cindy blew out a breath of air. Obviously, Sheldon's penchant for pretty, shiny things extended to women's clothing as well.

He'd defended the tight garment fervently when she'd first been given it to test squeeze into. "It's bulletproof, Cindy," Sheldon said with superiority from the corner of his mouth as he looked down the lens of the microscope.

"Yeah, and it shows every fricken' bullet hole in my ass," she complained back.

Observant little dork, eh? "Thanks, Sheldon. Do you think when you design the next bulletproof fashion faux pas, it could be a nice bulky sweater and slacks? I think you've been watching too much Matrix."

"It wasn't enough that I made you those mock Pradas so you could run, yet still be 'cute' when you do so, Ms. Former Beauty Queen?" he mocked.

Cindy sighed. Did no one understand the importance of looking your best when nabbing bad guys? "I was just putting in a request."

"I'll look into it, Agent Crisco," he said while his teenybopper face broke into a sly smile.

Cindy rolled her eyes as she zipped up the tight jumpsuit, catching a quick glance at her ass in her full-length mirror.

Bulletproof, schmullet proof.

Excerpt from James Bondage
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After being trapped out of space and time, Dr. Noemi Gastineau finally discovers her true nature and the amazing destiny that awaits her. However, danger surrounds her on every side. It seems that a rogue angel, an insane nymph, and a wily demon would be enough for a woman to deal with for one day. Unfortunately, Azrael, the Angel of Death is now on her tail, and he's one of the good guys!

How's a succubus supposed to get any quality time with her men when the whole universe seems to be out to get her?

Excerpt:This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

In the darkness, the true measure of a man or woman can be weighed.

Noemi lay on her side, curled tightly into a fetal position, allowing the other presence in her mind to run rampant, to succumb to blind panic. She refused to give Anahita a voice though. The succubus could indulge in blind panic, but not a sound left her throat. After a seemingly endless time spent buried in the darkness of an unknown cave, Noemi calmly, assertively took over, forcing the other half of her psyche to submit to her control.

She took a deep breath, and then another.

"Okay. This isn't a new situation for us. For me." She slowly relaxed her muscles, stretching out and sitting up. "In fact, compared to waking up in a glacier, this is a picnic." She opened her eyes wide, hoping to catch some vestige of light; something that would reassure her that she really, truly wasn't buried alive. The stygian blackness of the cave was unrelieved and Noemi shivered, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I guess all the years trapped in that glacier would explain why I hate getting cold."

Anahita didn't answer, and why should she? Noemi was Anahita.

That brought a slightly hysterical laugh to Noemi, and she fought the urge to curl up again like a baby in the womb. But Noemi was stronger than that. Noemi hunted and fought demons.

Noemi didn't know that I lived within her all this time!

"No, Anahita, you don't have a voice. We are the same person. I accept that, just as I accept your memories as my own."

With that admission, Noemi's mind skipped through the recent and distant past. She vividly recalled the many times she'd honed in on Rex's bright, vivid life-light, returning to feed from him again and again. She also recalled Rion's fearful reaction to her presence.

But he came back to me! Even though he doesn't remember, he knows!

"Yes, Anahita, he knows. I'm sure of it."

Satisfaction pulsed through the succubus. Her relief was nearly painful to experience. Anahita's love for the men carried the sharp edge of desperate fear. She had pursued them relentlessly, yet sacrificed all to their wellbeing. Her greatest fear was losing them, yet she set Orion free when his fear of the succubus grew overwhelming. When he'd taken Rex to China, Anahita had stayed behind, knowing that her kind was feared and loathed within that culture. As she evaluated the shadow existence that she'd lived in the hours that Anahita controlled her life, Noemi felt some degree of pride. The succubus was anything but evil. She had evolved into a strong, ethical person, even when split from Noemi's conscious control.

Deep in the grip of memory, Noemi barely noticed when gentle light began to soften the darkness around her. Golden light laced with red glowed within the chamber, allowing her to see her prison.

In confusion, she looked around for the source of the illumination, only to discover that it came from her body.

"Damnation!"

She deliberately relaxed, letting the light swell up. Her long, straight hair suddenly seemed heavier and more luxuriant. Her dark skin had a distinctly golden gleam.

A convulsive gasp pulled through her chest, and pain blossomed deep in her back.

Wings, she thought, and they came forth. Great, black-feathered wings, edged with golden light. Noemi slowly stood and flexed those great wings, a smile lighting on her face as power and strength radiated through her body. Anahita was triumphant.

It's been so very long since I was whole.

So very long indeed. She basked in the emerging power that had been dormant for so long. Yet Noemi was still in a dangerous, uncertain situation. She paced the cave, running the last encounters with Michael, Carly and the demons through her mind.

In spite of Noemi being caught at the center of this web, she suddenly realized that this whole drama was not about her or her men. She closed her eyes, patching together a memory that was incomplete.

Michael the High Angel. She carried the memory of his cruel, beautiful face in the darkest recesses of her memory. His ambition had twisted him, he'd Fallen and no one had been the wiser. No one but her husband. Even the fall from Heaven hadn't seared Michael's betrayal from her mind. He'd hated Kokabiel, God's Star. He'd envied him his voice, and the respect that he'd earned among their people. When Kokabiel had confronted Michael with his treachery, the High Angel had framed him, tried him, and had his voice burned away so that he couldn't speak in his own defense.

Yet this scenario was not about Kokabiel. She wondered if Michael was even aware that Kokabiel lived on in Orion Hunter.

She sat on a rock and massaged her temples, sorting through the tangled web of her memory.

Patrick. Azrael.

She could barely bring his image to mind. He was dark, but unlike her his skin was fair, his eyes the deepest blue. She'd encountered him when she had first escaped from the glacier. In later years she'd been his quarry, but had seen him only from a distance, and in his human disguise.

Unlike the other angels on Earth, he'd never Fallen. He'd been sent. Unlike her and Rion, he could go home. Which meant that he could tell the people at home of Michael's true nature, if he was even aware of it. If he cared.

She swallowed, a slow, sick feeling sliding through her belly. Carly had been protecting Patrick. Carly hadn't ruptured the membrane of Noemi's memory through jealousy and spite. She'd been blackmailed... forced.

"Patrick. Azrael." She stood and paced. "Carly loves Patrick. Michael needs to destroy him to protect himself. Azrael hasn't a clue of the danger that he's in!"

Sudden, urgent fear laced through Noemi, and panic began to tease at the edges of her consciousness.

When the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, Noemi staggered, one hand bracing her trembling body against the wall of the cave.

When a dark, burning light overtook and consumed her own golden glow, Noemi's heart froze in her chest.
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On Alpha Island men sell their flesh through prostitution or gladiatorial matches. Brothers Iron and Rock have almost earned enough in the arena to buy their freedom. When tragedy strikes during a match, Rock refuses to fight again, even if it means staying on Alpha Island forever.

Accidentally transported to the planet Amazurn, Earth women Geri and Dee thought all they wanted was to return home, until they fell in love with the sexy twin gladiators. Tender yet powerful Rock has claimed Geri's heart and fiery Iron is Dee's perfect match. The women must choose between their home world and love.
When Rock and Iron are invited by the Queen of Amazurn to participate in a gladiatorial challenge with freedom as the prize, they have a chance for a new life with their lovers. But the competition is fierce and rather than gaining their freedom, the brothers might lose their lives.

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

This was the way to start the day. Nothing felt better than standing here, warm after a shower, wearing nothing but a towel while the most gorgeous man in the universe approached her from behind.

Rock's arms slid around Geri and he nuzzled her neck while holding her close to his hard, damp body. She closed her eyes and leaned against him, although fear tainted this romantic moment.

Tonight Rock and his twin brother Iron would fight in a gladiatorial match, a top form of entertainment on Alpha Island. Here on the female-dominated planet Amazurn, alpha males were banished to one of four islands where many men survived as gladiators or prostitutes. To a recently arrived Earth woman like Geri, Amazurn took some getting used to. If not for Rock, she wasn't sure how she would have survived here without losing her sanity.

Rock tugged off her towel and let it drop to the floor. Their nude bodies pressed close and his stiffening cock pushed against Geri. He caressed her hips then cupped her breasts. She sighed with pleasure as his thumbs swept over her nipples, awakening them. He slid a hand down her belly and his fingers stroked her soft curls before dipping between her legs.

Geri moaned and wiggled her bottom against him. He chuckled deep in his throat.

"You like this?" he said close to her ear.

"What do you think?"

"I think we can do better." He swept her into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and into his adjoining bedroom.

Clinging to his neck, Geri gazed into his handsome face and tried not to think about what he'd look like after the fight tonight.

Though he and Iron were one of the top gladiatorial teams on Amazurn, she had doubts about his ability to defeat his upcoming opponent. Redblade not only outweighed Rock, but had more attitude than ten alphas. Despite his strength and skill, Rock had a gentle side. Geri had read about his fights, but had never actually seen one. At the moment she couldn't fathom her sweet, gentle lover going toe-to-toe with a beast like Redblade.

Rock placed her on the bed and loomed above her. Staring into his big blue eyes, she was about to speak, but he covered her mouth in a breath-stealing kiss. Like him it was passionate yet tender. Overwhelmed by affection, she held him tighter and tried to forget about the fight.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down her neck.

"You're so beautiful," he said and kissed the tops of her breasts, then took her nipple between his lips. He flicked his tongue over it, then sucked.

Geri gasped with pleasure and arched against him, running her hands over his smooth-shaven head. Groaning with pleasure, Rock kissed his way down her belly.

He paused, his full, kissable lips hovering over her clit. Heavens, the anticipation of how they'd feel on her sensitive flesh had her tingling from head to toe, but she couldn't think of herself.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You have a fight tonight. I don't want you to waste all your energy now and --"

He snorted, his brow furrowed. "Maybe human males work that way, but not Shand. Sex makes us fight better."

She laughed. "Yeah. Right."

"It's true."

Maybe he was being honest. Though the Shand resembled humans, they had special protective layers around their brains which made them less susceptible to head injuries. Still, they weren't indestructible. Not to mention Rock and Iron were only half Shand. Their mother was from Amazurn and Amazurnian males were known for their delicacy.

"Do you actually think making love with you is going to hurt my chances of winning this fight?" He looked offended.

She rested her hands on his steely shoulders and sighed. "All I mean is why don't you just save it for later?"

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He stretched out beside her and caressed her face. "It's sweet that you're worried about me, Geri, but you need to have more faith. You'll feel differently after tonight."

"I have faith," she said. "I just..."

"What?"

"Nothing." She kissed him and cuddled close.

"If you're so sure I'm going to get killed, why don't you let me make love to you one last time?"

Horrified, she stared at him and he actually chuckled. "That isn't funny!" she snapped, and tried to rise from the bed, but he held her snugly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Don't be upset."

"How can you joke about it?"

"I've been in the arena since I was thirteen years old, love. If I didn't know how to do my job, I'd have been out of the game a long time ago."

Their gazes locked, she asked, "Does sex seriously make you perform better in the arena or is that a ploy to get some?"

He grinned and kissed her again. This time she didn't even consider holding back.
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Shadow Play

Demetrius Von Clare has fallen in love with Delilah. However, his happiness is thwarted when the same villagers he has always protected so fiercely, betray him.
Near death and with his castle in shambles an alluring stranger saves him. Queen Marcella, a vampire, offers him immortality in exchange for his eternal devotion and servitude.
Demetrius, believing Delilah to be dead, accepts her offer and becomes Dominick, Marcella's strong and virile prince.
But after a disastrous confrontation, Dominick is banished from the court with Marcella's promises to harm any person he falls in love with. Dominick doesn't care, as he believes he'll never find another to love after Delilah.
But in the bayous of New Orleans, Lillian is dropped on his doorstep, and he finds himself torn between his budding love for her, and keeping her safe from his vengeful former Queen.Excerpt:This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

1832, The Bayou, New Orleans, Louisiana

Dominick Von Clare's lush lips turned down in distaste as he recognized the carriage coming up the long drive toward his plantation house. His eyeteeth lengthened in anticipation as he wondered what morsels Patrick had sent his way this time.

The only visitors Dominick was accustomed to were the ones Patrick sent and these visits never lasted very long. Dominick lit the oil lamps and candelabra in the parlor to give his richly furnished home a warm glow before his guests arrived.

Patrick had sent them at just the right moment. Dominick had been growing hungry and weary, and was just thinking about taking a trip over to the Wright plantation when he noticed the buggy. For a moment he had been completely devastated; he was hoping for a chance to kill Patrick Wright. But as long as Pat was holding up his end of their deal, Dominick had no reason to do so.

The knocker sounded harshly against the broad walnut door of Von Clare manor. Suppressing a devilish grin, Dominick swept his hand across his disheveled shoulder length brown hair before opening the door.

As the trader shuffled the young woman around near the windows, Dominick noticed her face for the first time. Beneath the stamp of defiance was a lovely girl, with soft features that overall made her very nice to behold. Her silky plaited hair fell down her back and her shabby dress exposed her creamy neck and shoulders.

Dominick found it hard to look away. He was caught off guard by the stirring in his loins as she glared at him.

"Master Von Clare, Master Wright says you'll be most interested in Lillian as a maid. She's a bit of a handful," the trader continued, as if Lillian wasn't in the room mere feet away from them. "But I hear she is well worth it."

The trader winked, which made Dominick want to laugh. The girl looked like she would take a bite out of anyone who tried to touch her.

"Mon Dieu! You lie! I haven't allowed any of you cochons to touch me!" Lillian snapped. She raised her head high and placed her hands on her waist. Dominick found himself looking at her with a light smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"One more word out of you, girl, and I'll --" the trader shouted, rising to his feet.

"You will not speak to her in that manner again. Are we clear?" Dominick asked in the low, calm way that made the words even more chilling.

Seeing the ire in his glare, the trader nodded quickly while Lillian stared at him. Even Dominick couldn't figure out why he had reacted in such a way. But Lillian's face was pulling at his emotions, emotions that had lain dormant inside him for centuries. "How much do you want for her?" Dominick asked, ready to bleed this man dry. Before the trader could speak, Dominick turned to Lillian. "Wait for me upstairs," he ordered.

A leering smile crossed the trader's face. Dominick's dislike for this man was growing by the second.

"Oui, maître, " Lillian said with a nod of her head, then quickly left the room.

"Quite a looker there." The trader grunted as he rose to sit closer to Dominick.

As his hunger grew, Dominick's vision dimmed and his only concern was the blood rushing through the trader's veins. The trader wouldn't be missed, and was such a lowly man that Dominick had no qualms about killing him.

Swiftly Dominick gathered the man in his arms and sank his fangs into his neck. He didn't hear the gasp coming from the hallway. The blood was too thick and too sweet to concentrate on anything else.

With her heart pounding in her chest, and too afraid to do anything else, Lillian quickly hurried up the stairs and hid in the nearest closet.

* * *

Dominick remained in the little rowboat in the middle of the swamp long after dumping the trader's body to the alligators. He would have to learn be more careful with his feedings, but he had been so hungry and that man had practically asked for it.

But what troubled Dominick more was Lillian, at least what he planned to do with her. He had no intention of harming her. In fact how she felt mattered a great deal to him and he had no idea why. Though very lovely, Lillian wasn't a great beauty and to complicate matters more -- other than the fact that he happened to be a vampire -- she was a slave. Well, his slave, now, and he had never known a servant to be content in captivity.

He could set her free, but where would she go? She would be unable to provide for herself as well as Dominick could. He had no choice but to keep her with him. With a fresh resolve, Dominick placed his oar back into the murky waters and headed back to his vast estate.

The candles in the house were dimming and though he didn't need the candles to see clearly in the dark, he was worried that Lillian would become even more afraid. And his concern for her was driving him mad.

He couldn't care for her; he hardly knew her. And he didn't want to know her. So why am I keeping her? He wrote it off to loneliness as he shut the French doors behind him.

Just as a light rain began to fall, Dominick slipped off his blue velvet waistcoat and raked his fingers through his hair while walking toward the parlor.

Hearing faint movements behind him, he turned around just in time to catch Lillian's wrist before she bashed him in the head with the huge iron skillet in her hand.

"What's all this?" Dominick said with a laugh while he effortlessly wrenched the pan out of her tiny hands.

"I saw what you did to that man!" Lillian shouted.

Dominick couldn't help but find her heavily accented English charming. It was what he liked best about this little town; all its cultural richness and diversity.

He found himself very surprised by her forwardness. He hadn't met very many slaves with the courage to shout back at a white person, let alone the one who owned them. "I hadn't expected you to mourn his passing," Dominick replied, walking past her and into the kitchen. The pots must have been left over from the previous owner; he didn't have any use for cooking utensils and never entertained guests formally.

"I did not care for that man at all," she spat, following him into the dimly lit room.

"So you care only for your own well being?" Dominick asked, turning to face her. His gaze must have startled her. She quickly looked away. "I do not mean you any harm. I will not bother you, if you will just stay."http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1354

Blurb:
When Bedtime Stories Press' review coordinator, Pixie, calls reviewer B.J. Smith into the office to discuss a bad review, she finds out "she" is two males. Very drool-worthy males.

They are adamant that the book they reviewed was too vanilla for Bedtime Stories Press. When the discussion on what they felt should have been included in the book turns into a kinky demonstration of assorted toys, what's a pixie to do? Excerpt:This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

The door opened and Willafer stuck her head through. An elfish grin on her face warned Pixie that something was up. "There's a B.J. Smith waiting to see you. I've put them in the front interview office, so you'll have lots of room." A snicker escaped her lips. "The lock on the door is functional, and I'll be within earshot if you need any... erm... help." With a very unprofessional giggle, the Elf skipped away down the corridor to reception.

Pixie stood and sighed. Willafer could be such an Elf at times. Grabbing her tablet and stylus, she headed down to confront the unfortunate Ms. Smith. She paused at the doorway to plaster a pleasant smile on her face. It would be best to get past preliminary introductions before she ripped the hapless reviewer's self-respect to shreds.

Satisfied that she looked like a harmless pixie, she sashayed through the doorway. "Good morning, Ms. Smith..." Her voice trailed off and she stared in confusion. Two of the most mouthwatering men she'd seen in decades stood as she entered the room.

One dark. One blond. Tall. Muscular. Rugged. Those tight muscle shirts really didn't hide a lot, did they? And those faded jeans? Practically molded to the wide thighs and narrow waists. Pixie swallowed hard, all her righteous indignation evaporating in a rolling wave of lust.

"I'm sorry. You must be the new cover models Troll was expecting. I'll just go check with Willafer and see which room my party is in." With a sigh of regret, she turned to go.

The blond put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, his mouth twisted in a wry grin. "We're not cover models. We work for the construction crew down the road when we aren't busy reviewing books. We're B. J. Smith." He nodded at the dark-haired man. "That's Bill and I'm Jake. B.J."

Pixie tilted her head and tore her gaze away from the wide shoulders and six-pack abs. Damn, someone should put more clothes on these guys. Or maybe not. "You two men are the reviewer B.J. Smith? The one who thinks Conquistadors in Space is too vanilla?"

Jake grinned, a sexy stretch of lips over gleaming white teeth, and she felt flames of pure lust licking their way down her spine. Even that slightly embarrassed shrug of his shoulders looked sexy. "Bedtime Stories Press sets high standards for kink. While it was well written and a nice story, we felt the work should have been spicier."

The darker of the two chimed in. "Much spicier. I could have read that to my mother without blushing."

Pixie looked over at Bill and blinked, attempting to focus on something higher than the intriguing bulge in those tight jeans. She struggled to remember the plot of the book in question. "As I recall, there were two shape-shifters having rather gymnastically inclined sex in a zero-G chamber. At least four different sexual positions were involved. You wanted more?" Damn! That didn't come out nearly as caustic as when she'd practiced it this morning while B.J. Smith was still a woman.http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1351

Blurb:
Edan is a loner, pure and simple. A loner with one goal in life, to avenge the twin killed in an illegal cage fight four years ago. With no body to mourn, Edan takes his twin's place in the ring to save as many paranormals as he can from the brutal sport.

Paranormals like Dualla's aunt Melody, saved from a rich human's "collection." Restored to her tribe, the older mermaid tells tales of her handsome and enigmatic rescuer, tales that have the younger women of the Romani mer-tribe in flutters.

Everyone except Dualla. Half mer, half... something else, she's always been the odd one out. A healer like her mother, she's had the same dream for years -- dreams of a man who is more than a man, and a dragon with purple scales who sets the sea on fire. A warrior to her mystic. A man with a broken heart... one Dualla knows she was born to heal.
Excerpt:This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

The fight was over. Two hundred pounds plus of defeated cage fighter hit the floor, groaning his pain into the matting. Victorious, Edan spun in the centre of the ring, sweat-soaked blond hair whipping around his shoulders as he looked for his next target.

There wasn't one.

He'd won.

He roared in triumph. The crowd gasped as he loosed his hold on the dragon within and gave the creature full voice. The window panes, set high in the walls, rattled, and glasses danced over the tables with the force of the sound. His dragon drew closer to the surface, scales pressing against the inside of his skin as his bones ached with the effort of holding it inside.

Edan lifted his head and looked around the crowd as he forced the creature to recede. He didn't bother to hide the contempt written across his face. The room was filled. Every seat at every table occupied for this blood-thirsty spectacular. He recognized politicians, police chiefs and wealthy businessmen. Kneeling at their feet, wearing near identical collars and expressions of misery, were their paranormal "pets."

Edan gritted his teeth until his jaw ached with the pressure. He could see numerous weres and several variety of fae. Nothing too powerful of course... certainly nothing like him. A dragon would take this place apart in seconds if anyone was stupid enough to even try and put a collar on it.

"And the winner is... Edan Lisander!" The announcer's voice rolled around the small room.

Mac, Edan's owner, ducked into the cage to grab Edan's wrist, shoving it into the air in the traditional winner's salute. "Good job, big guy. Thought you were a goner at one point."

Dark haired and lean, Mac appeared human. Especially next to Edan, who looked like he could break the smaller man in half. Nothing could be further from the truth. In Mac's case, what walked and talked like a duck was anything but a duck.

Edan knew if he tried anything, he'd just end up bruising his knuckles. Mac was a gargolye; one of the only creatures who could suck up more damage than a dragon. Which made them perfect partners -- a deadly duo in their bloody little game.

"Pfft, to him?" Edan nodded at the crumpled figure of his opponent. "You've gotta be kidding me. He couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag, no matter how much Fairy-dust they pump into him."

Like his contempt, Edan didn't bother to hide his disgust. The guy had been high before he stepped into the cage, and there was nothing that pissed Edan off quicker than a user. Particularly one who thought he was the biggest bad-ass out there. Of course, there had been nothing else for it... Edan had been forced to introduce him to the mesh of the cage several times.

"Oh yeah?" Mac threw back, "I suppose hitting his fist with your face was part of you wearing him down then?"

"Behave." Edan bit out while Mac paraded him around the cage like a good little pet. "Or you'll end up as a garden ornament. A butt-ugly one."

"Yeah, yeah, you and whose army, scale-boy?"

Edan just shook his head. Mac had the gift of the gab for sure. "So, how'd we do?"

Mac's grin was quick, the look in his silver eyes almost feral. "We got him bang to rights. Bastard was counting on his boy winning this fight and for you to take a fall in the fourth. Right about now he's making a run for it with the takings."

"We've got all his escape routes covered?"

Edan ducked out of the cage, slipping a little on the blood and snot by the hatch but recovering within a second. He slanted a look over his shoulder in the vain hope that Mac wouldn't notice it and go arse over tit. No such luck. For a creature made of the biological equivalent of granite, the gargoyle was damned light on his feet.

Mac threw a towel around the dragon's neck as Edan flopped into a chair near their "corner." "Of course, what do you take me for? No matter where he runs, Steel and Reese'll track him down."

Edan used the edge of the towel to wipe the sweat from his face. They'd spent too long tracking Carmicheal down, put in too many man hours getting their ducks in a row, for it to all go to shit now. With heavy hitters like Steel and Reese on the case though -- both of whom had more than enough reason to hate Carmicheal's guts -- Edan didn't have to worry about anything. Well, other than the two weres ripping each other to pieces.

Edan's eyebrow arched. "You sure it was a good idea to put those two together?"

Mac shrugged. "They'll either work out their differences or kill each other. Either way, I won't have to put up with their bitching and bellyaching about each other anymore. I call it a win-win situation."

Edan snorted a laugh and reached up. Gathering his hair at the nape of his neck, he snapped a band around it.

"What the fuck? What do you mean he's gone? I put good money on this fight and I want my damn winnings!"

The shrill voice of complaint was just the first. Before either Edan or Mac could turn and identify the speaker, more voices had joined the fray. The noise in the room increased as the crowd realized there might be a problem.

"Looks like the peasants are revolting." Mac threw the bigger man his shirt and grabbed Edan's bag. "Come on, big guy, time to haul ass before things get ugly."

The shirt hit Edan mid-stomach as he rose to his feet, his movements graceful even after seven rounds and a pounding in the cage. His attention wasn't on Mac though. Instead, it was riveted on the other side of the room where a fish tank covered the wall. In fact, it was the wall, he realized, now he got a good look at it. There was something in there, something big.

"You go on. I'll be out in a moment."
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1350

Blurb:
All Connor wanted was for his significant other Roxi to relax. Opening her new café has been stressing her out. So to help her unwind he concocts his special Bliss Out Hot Chocolate. Only it doesn't go quite as planned.

Roxi's not relaxed at all. The seal containing her succubus nature is deteriorating and the hunger for sex is wearing down her self-control. Connor calls on his best friend, an incubus, for help.Excerpt:This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

After five years as both vampire and succubus, Roxi was still fighting with her succubus nature. The sexual desires running through her body were stronger than her need for blood. One night, nearly a year ago, during a feeding, she'd lost control and killed someone.

Roxi hadn't even realized what she'd done until the next evening after she had risen. Sheer terror and fear had gripped her as she'd rolled over to find her lover cold, his brown eyes lifeless. A sickening smile had curled on his lips as if he'd gone into eternity happy. She'd scrambled out of bed, far away from the horror, and thrown up. Her body shook as she'd curled into a ball. Roxi'd held her knees and cried until nothing had existed beyond the numbness that had settled upon her.

Everything that made sense in her world was gone. Days, hours and minutes went by. How long she'd been curled up in a ball, she didn't know. Tobias had found her. He'd cleaned up her mess, but the lingering loss of her lover hung on her shoulders.

For the past year, she'd struggled to get the memory of waking up to his dead body out of her head. Tobias had tried to teach her control. His efforts had failed. Her succubus nature was too strong. Just the thought of sex, even a small bit of lust, caused the beast to rise within. The desire would take over. She would black out and find her current lover passed out, his life hanging on by a thread, and yet again Tobias would have to clean up her mess.

Tired of losing control, she'd sought out the advice of a witch who told about the sealing ceremony. "The magicks involved are volatile and dangerous. You could die," the witch had warned her.

"I don't care. Just make it happen." Guilt, fear, anger and desperation had driven her to this point. She wanted either to die or have the monster inside of her sealed away if it couldn't be killed. Roxi felt as if the hungers were trying to claw their way out of her. Every second that went by, a little more of her control eroded away. The arousal extended thin fingers, tracing light touches up and down her spine. It lit nerve endings on fire and caused her pussy to contract. Her clit ached for a touch, anything to ease the need.

The world was a swirl of heat and desire. She swallowed and tried to push it all down. The power only shoved right back. Roxi stumbled backward and gasped as the energy surged upward. It stole her breath and sent her head spinning. She tried to breathe through the heat that was consuming her. A hand settled on her shoulder. Roxi looked up to find herself staring into calm, steady, golden eyes. Rough fingertips trailed over her cheek. She turned into the touch. Her lips connected with his palm. Without hesitation she kissed the soft skin and sighed. The desire simmered in her veins, but for the first time since her changing, she could control it.

Roxi closed her eyes and kissed his hand again. She inhaled his scent, a mixture of musk edged with something wild and chaotic. The effects of his cologne rushed through her. It sparked fires within her. Her succubus nature didn't rise. Instead, it lay content at this man's feet. He pulled his hand away. For a moment the need came roaring back, out of control. Then it was pushed away when he cupped her chin, leaned forward and kissed her.

The first touch of his mouth was tentative, hesitant. When she didn't push him away, the kiss became more. She heard his heartbeat in her head. The sweet and salty tastes of blood rolled around her mouth. Roxi hungered for him to sink deep inside of her until they were one. A thirst for his blood rose up so strong that she bit him. Instead of moving away from her, he groaned. She felt his arms wrap around her. He pulled her close. When their hips touched, she felt his erection pressing against her stomach. Her pussy contracted. Desire dampened her panties. She wanted to feel every inch of him inside of her, fucking her hard.

Roxi broke the kiss. Her breath came out in soft pants as desire threatened to tug under its riptide. She looked up at him. Although her gaze was pulled toward his golden eyes, she studied his features fully from his high brow, to his sculpted cheekbones, aquiline nose and sensual lips. What shocked her most were the scars that slashed through his cheek and dragged the left side of his mouth down.

She reached up and traced the fine lines lightly.

He grabbed her wrist. The world stopped. Fear that she had done something wrong caused her to look away.

"It's okay. The wounds still hurt, that's all. Besides, I'd rather have your nails tearing up my back." He smiled. Heat flushed her cheeks as she imagined their legs tangled with one another as their bodies moved together, trying to reach climax. "I'm Connor, by the way, reformed warlock."

He gave her a kiss which made her smile against his mouth. She kissed him back. Roxi lifted her hand and threaded her fingers through his hair. The silken strands trailed against her palm and sent pleasure up her arm. He rocked his hips against hers, and she moaned and grabbed a handful of hair. Roxi pulled back to look up at him. "Don't start something you can't finish."
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1348

Hardest of Hearts

Blurb:
Emma and Aidan can't keep their hands off each other. There's just one little problem: she's sworn to kill all vampires and he likes the taste of blood a little too much.
Emma's been raised in the knowledge that all vampires are evil. After all, they're responsible for the death of her parents. Meeting Aidan shouldn't change a thing: so he might be the most beautiful man she's ever seen; he's still a vampire, and it's her duty to kill him, not to get him naked. Even if his Irish charm and quiet morality are extremely persuasive.
Aidan's come back to town to avenge the death of a very old friend. But far from the old zealot he expected, his new enemy is a young redhead with a killer body. She's determined to wipe out all vampires, and Aidan sees it as his duty to save his own kind.
And if he has to seduce her to do it, so much the better...Excerpt:
I saw my first vampire when I was sixteen. He was incredibly beautiful, a pale,
tortured creature haunting the school corridors. An unearthly concoction of
glittering skin and soulful eyes, drawing the yearning, desperate love of every
girl in school.
I drove a stake through his heart, of course.
So when a vampire walked in through the doors of Oh My Goth one Friday night
about ten years later, my fingers twitched for the stake in my bag.
Unfortunately, my bag was in the back room, and no part of my outfit would have
concealed it. Added to which, my boss would probably complain if I staked a
customer in the shop. And I'd get stuck with cleaning up the blood.
The vampire was a looker. It's a trick of fiction to persuade us that all
vampires are hot. They're not, just as not all humans are gorgeous. The
better-looking ones are more successful, however. They attract more prey, which
makes them stronger. Simple as that.
This one moved like a predator, the swagger and grace of a creature who won't
ever be challenged. A man who knows no woman can turn him down. A hunter who
doesn't believe he can be beaten.
I watched him move around the shop, graceful and predatory, even as my brain
checked and discarded every available item it could think of which might be used
as a weapon.
He was tall and lean in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and maybe I could stun
him with one of the heavy coffee-table Bible of the Dead books he was slinking
past. No, vampire skulls were thicker than that.
He had dark hair, black maybe, curly and tousled and just brushing his collar,
and now he was prowling past the crucifix earrings, maybe I could use those. No,
probably not—symbols of religious belief only really work if you actually do
believe—and in my experience they're still not terribly effective on anything
but the newest vampire.
His skin was pale, like that of most Caucasian vampires. He didn't gleam with
the sheen of the newly-fed, which probably worked in his favor. If he looked
like he'd just eaten someone, I'd have to leap over the counter and bludgeon him
to death with a coffin-shaped handbag.
He needed a shave, which was somewhat unusual amongst vampires, unless they were
very old, before the art of clean shaving had been perfected. Maybe I could
offer him one of the ceremonial knives to shave with, and then accidentally cut
off his head with it. No. The blades were quite small, and I'd have to do a lot
of hacking. Think of the carpet.
His eyes were dark, narrowed slightly as he glanced at the admittedly tacky
range of Goth gifts for sale. His lips were shapely, and I could see no sign of
fangs. Not that it would have bothered most of our clientele if he'd been
displaying them.
The vampire moved past the range of dying flowers on the Valentines display to
the Turnbury Murders exhibition, and as he looked up I saw his eyes were a
chocolatey shade, with dark lashes. His bone structure was impeccable, with a
strong jaw and high cheekbones. His nose might have been broken once or twice,
but that only served to make his perfection a little more human.
Except that he wasn't human, and I was considering stabbing him in the heart
with an ornamental fan.
I could follow him outside when he left, perform some of my usual
look-at-my-neck moves—the vampire version of the crooked finger—and lure him
around to the little yard at the back of the shop. Probably, I could hide his
body there until the shop closed, and with any luck he might have disintegrated
enough to simply be tossed in the organic recycling bin.
Then the vampire turned to look at me, and my breath caught in my throat. I'd
assessed the details, inventoried features, dispassionately noted his good
looks—but now he was looking directly at me, and that dark chocolate gaze was
reaching right out to me and begging me to succumb. He had come-hither eyes, and
I sure as hell wanted to hither and come.
Stake through the heart, I reminded myself as he prowled over to the counter.
Poison in a pretty bottle. A gorgeous vampire is still a vampire.
Goddamn, he was pretty though.
"I wonder if you could help me," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips, and
either the bastard was putting on an Irish accent to be charming or he was
actually lucky enough to open his mouth and speak like that naturally. I wasn't
sure which would have been the more annoying.
"I'm sure I can try," I replied, as politely as I could—which is to say, not
very polite. Thankfully, people don't expect someone working in a shop which
sells coffin handbags to actually be polite, which suits me to the ground.
"I'm looking for information about the Turnbury Murders," he said, and my eyes
narrowed.
"Well, we have lots of it in our exhibition," I said, waving at the wall.
He smiled then, a proper smile, a wide grin that lit up his face and made his
eyes sparkle. His teeth were decent, which told me that despite his lack of
shaving standards, he wasn't a terribly old vampire. More than a hundred or so
years old and the standard of dental hygiene was so dismal a lot of vamps had a
mouthful of brown teeth. Only their fangs looked remotely healthy.
But this vampire, Mr. Handsome Irish Charmer, had perfect pearlers. And dark
chocolately eyes, and carelessly long hair. And now he'd moved closer I could
see the muscle definition beneath his clothes. He had on a couple of layered
t-shirts, frayed and faded, and the hand resting on the counter wore a
fingerless glove. His leather jacket was worn in several places, and the silver
chain vanishing under his shirt was tarnished.
A lot of vampires tended to dress like they were homeless, and I'd still never
quite worked out why.
This guy made it look like the height of style.
"I'm interested," said the vampire, "in Joan Moorcroft, and William Huntley, and
Lizzie Bathgate."
His eyes suddenly became less like chocolate and more like wood, old, hard wood,
the kind that's turned rocklike with age and hard use, and can't be shattered by
anything.
The three people he was asking about had been vampires. And they'd been killed
by me.
"There's not much information up there about them," the vampire continued. His
gaze never left mine.
"Not very much is known about them," I replied steadily. "It's not even certain
they were murdered. They simply disappeared."
Those three vampires had been old, old enough that their bodies disintegrated
with nauseating speed. Torrence had simply scooped their crumbling bones into a
weighted bag and dumped it in the sea.
"And where do you think they disappeared to?" asked the vampire. His nails were
short and clean, his fingers elegant.
I held his gaze. "I think they probably went home," I said. "We have some books
on the Turnbury Murders, if you're interested."
"I'm just interested in those three."
"Well, we have very little information on them," I said. He was lean, but
muscular. Probably knew how to use his body in a fight.
He continued to stare at me. "I knew Lizzie Bathgate," he said, his voice very
low.
"Did you? Then I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Loss? I thought she went home?"
"Well, maybe you should try calling her there."
"Lizzie was never very good with phones."
"Wasn't she." It wasn't a question. I'd given up the pretense of being polite.
"They were somewhat before her time."
I smoothed my hands over a stack of Turnbury Murders leaflets. "How
unfortunate."
"She'd have been more than seventy when they were invented."
"Is that so." The nearest wooden object was a pencil far too small to really do
any damage with, but I rolled it under my palm in a move I doubt he missed.
"Which would make her nearly two hundred years old."
"Well, she didn't look a day over twenty," I snapped.
There it was. A tiny softening in those hardwood eyes, a tilt of his head, and
an utter lack of surprise. The vampire knew who I was.
The three or four other customers in the shop barely turned their heads. Daisy,
the only other member of staff present, was helping a girl try on corsets in the
changing room. The gloomy Emo music Daisy preferred kept our conversation
private.
I was alone with a vampire who knew who I was, and the only weapon I had was a
damn pencil.
"You're Emma Howard," he said.
"My reputation precedes me," I said curtly.
"Young vampire hunter with curly red hair and a killer body," he said, surveying
what was visible of said body behind the counter. His eyes caressed me as a
lover's would. "There can't be many about."
"Did you want something?" I snarled.
His eyes met mine again, and he smiled, the motion lazy.
"I want plenty," he said. He reached towards me, and I tensed, prepared to fight
him bare-handed if I had to, but all he did was slide a Guide to the Turnbury
Murders leaflet from under my palm.
"Thanks for the information," he said, and one eyelid quirked in what might have
been a wink. Rage nearly consumed me.
"Be seeing you," the vampire said, and sauntered out as casual as anything.
Beneath my hand, the pencil snapped in two.

It's been an equitable system, until now. Temair knew that one day she'd have to step up and take her place as Queen of Emetra; she just didn't expect for it to happen so soon! Now she finds herself on a Tour of the Queendom in search of her four Consorts –- the four men whose Elemental magic will awaken hers.

She's found her first Consort, the prickly Fyre Lord Miach, and they journey on to the Rayne Lands, where Miach comments the local uniform consists of... skin!

Rayne Lord Dathan is Miach's polar opposite, fun and easygoing. Temair immediately wants him, while Miach wants to get as far away from him as possible. When the threats against Temair's life escalate, Dathan must step up and prove to his Princess and her First Consort that he's strong enough to love them, and strong enough to defend them –- and their world –- as well.Excerpt:This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
"Great Mother," Nuriel breathed behind her, just loudly enough for Temair to hear. She twisted in her saddle and looked questioningly at her foster sister.
"Just look at them," the lovely blonde continued in an awed voice, her eyes devouring the seven gorgeous men ranged in a tight arrow on the stairs to Villa Rayne.
The seven sons of Rayne ranged in age from sixteen to thirty, Temair remembered. She let her gaze roam from one to the next, and had to admit Nuriel had a point. Each was more gorgeous than the next. They stood proudly, their golden beauty on display, covered only by low-riding sarongs in a multitude of shades of blue.
Nuriel sighed gustily, and Temair didn't even try to suppress her laughter at her friend's salacious appreciation of their hostess's sons. Her days of silence were over. They had to be if she were to be an effective Queen.
To her right, Miach snorted derisively. "It's no wonder she's got her own little army of sons, as the local uniform seems to be skin." When she turned his way, though, Miach had that little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. The one that lit a fire in her core, and sent lava rolling through her pussy.
"I'd ask if you were jealous," she quipped, laughing again at his outraged expression. "But you know full well you're as gorgeous as any of them." She gave him an exaggerated once-over. "Actually, My Lord Husband, you're more glorious than most of them."
Nuriel and Sorcha -- who was riding slightly behind Miach and to his right -- had been listening, and now both women joined Temair's laughter as the rather moody Miach preened, subtly of course, under Temair's compliment. Her sister princesses, though, didn't receive the benefit of his smoldering gaze, and the promise of his body. That was reserved for Temair alone.
Firmly drawing her attention away from her Consort's sculpted body and back to the task at hand, Temair directed her gaze to Lady Rayne, who was waiting regally at the top of the stairs. Her silvery-blue hair was dressed in elaborate braids, most likely to combat the heavy humidity of the land. Temair could already feel her own curls drooping and concentrated for a moment on the fyre within her, which had awakened at her joining with Miach. It took a moment, but she was delighted to feel the moisture gathering at her nape and weighing down her hair begin to evaporate.
The man standing next to the Lady, Temair knew, was her eldest son. The Lord of Rayne, the Lady had explained during their mirrored conversation, was out with the hunting parties. They'd not expected the Royal Visit for another few weeks, and so were "woefully unprepared." Considering the parade of dancing citizens tossing handfuls of flower petals at her, Temair was a bit daunted at the idea of what prepared would have looked like.
She hadn't paid a lot of attention to the eldest son during their approach. The Lady had also mentioned in their conversation that she thought one or two of her younger sons would make a good match for Temair. Her eldest, she'd confided, was a bit of a playboy, and not well suited for a life of politics.
Now, after fully appreciating the banquet of half-naked male flesh ranged over the stairs, Temair found her attention on the eldest son. He wore his hair in a loose, shoulder length cut; full of layers that should have made it look shaggy, but instead made it look tousled, as if he'd just crawled out of bed. It looked almost black from a distance, much like Miach's, but when he shifted into the light she realized it was instead a deep, indigo blue, fitting of his element. He tossed his head, flipping longish bangs out of his eyes, and for Temair, for just a second, time stopped.
His almond-shaped eyes were dark, but as his gaze met hers they flashed with brilliant blue sparks. Temair felt that look like a physical touch, tingling over her body in a way very similar to Miach's tendrils of fyre.
She must have caught her breath, or made some sort of noise or movement, because Miach was instantly at her side, utterly disregarding the protocol that dictated he should stay a stride behind.
"What is it, Spark?" he asked, his gaze following the line of hers. His movement, thankfully, broke the attention of the eldest son of Rayne, who flicked his gaze in Miach's direction. This left Temair's attention free to notice the way young Lord Rayne's eyes widened and Miach's narrowed as their gazes touched.
Interesting.